whenever someone asks what i want to do in the future, i just want to tell them that i want to marry a man and raise children with him better than the way my parents raised me and have all those little moments and actually love them and just hold my kids for as long as they’ll let me and hold my husband and be the good person they deserve to have and finally feel the love that i don’t have right now but instead i have to answer with something about the degree i’m getting.
Geralt's up to his knees in muck, stinking of water hags and bloedzuiger acid and regretting ever taking on a contract in a swamp. He should have known better; they never end well for him. He trudges through the muck, barely holding the water hag head above it in his exhaustion as he makes for solid land. It's a half-hour ride from here back to the village, but there's no way Roach will let him anywhere near her like this, so he'll have to walk. which would be fine if not for the gaping wound down the whole right side of his body.
He's had years of experience with water hags - alone and in packs of drowners - and he's never had so much trouble with them as he did with this one. It didn't help that she was joined by a stray bloedzuiger or that she got her claws under a broken buckle in his armour. And so he's frustrated with himself, exhausted and bleeding, and dreading to a long walk back to town.
As soon as he reaches Roach, he drops the hag head, digging through Roach’s saddlebags for his potions and downs Swallow. The last thing he needs after this day is to wind up with an infection because his wound got full of mud. Roach protests even the brief touch, snorting and stomping at him and Geralt mumbles an apology as he readjusts the bags and pulls out a rope to tie the head to her saddle. Once he's away from her, a few paces ahead with her reins in hand, she settles and it's a small mercy that she doesn't kick off every time he gets too close.
"It's not as though I enjoy stinking of swamp," he grumbles, but she just snorts.
They're not far out before he starts limping, the uneven ground doing nothing to help the searing pain in his side. But Geralt presses on because he can hear the sounds of civilization, however faint, in the distance, and he's had worse injuries than this. He’ll get paid, find a room for the night and by morning he’ll be feeling up to travelling again - and Roach will be happier to bear him once he’s clean.
But somewhere between the physical exhaustion and the fog in his head, he must have gotten turned around because when they arrive in town, it's not the one he was headed for. This town - city?- is much bigger than the place he set out from, but at the moment, he almost doesn't care. He's aching and his skin is tacky with sweat and muck and blood and who knows what else. He's got potions still running through his system and he's too keyed up to meditate, but he'd like to find somewhere to rest, if only for a little while before heading back in the other direction.
He asks for where to find lodgings at the gate and though suspicious, the guard doesn't seem inclined to take on a toxic Witcher, so he mumbles directions to the inn and lets Geralt pass without trouble. It's not until he's in the middle of town - until he's passing the brothel - that he realizes how badly he’s miscalculated. This is Hagge and that's Jaskier's brothel and with any luck - or lack thereof - Jaskier is in there right now.
And, as if by some sort of cruel fate, as Geralt turns the corner, he spots him.
Jaskier is leaning against the side of the building, talking animatedly with one of the other courtesans and Geralt curses himself for being so stupid. He can't let Jaskier see him like this. Jaskier is calm and patient and unafraid, but Geralt isn't sure how far that stretches and he's not naive; he knows what he looks like right now. He veers off the road, taking an alternate route, but it proves to be in vain because once he finds the inn, the innkeeper takes one look at him and sends him on his way.
Which is fair, he supposes; he looks like hell, looks like a monster and he'll scare away business. But the bathhouse is no different when he tries there and it's getting too dark to head back to the other town. He has two options: sleep out in the forest or see if the brothel will give him a room for the night. He'll pay what he can and he doesn't even have to see anyone; all he wants is a room and some rest, maybe a bath if they're feeling generous.
But when he arrives, striding into the main hall with as much confidence as he can muster, the madam just wrinkles her nose at him.
"Julian's waiting for you," she says stiffly, indicating the stairs. Geralt frowns because he didn't even know he was going to be here, how could Jaskier? He gives her a questioning look, but she just rolls her eyes and says, "go on then," like he's a child.
He does though, making his way toward the stairs and up toward Jaskier's room. On the one hand, he's relieved that he spent the time and money to have Roach stabled at the inn, but on the other, he's dreading having Jaskier see him like this. The only thing that keeps him moving is the prospect of a warm room and somewhere quiet to sleep.
Very reluctantly, he reaches out to knock on the closed door. His stomach knots up almost as soon as his knuckles touch wood. He shouldn't be so worried about what a whore thinks about him but Jaskier is one of the few people Geralt can let his guard down around and he's been enjoying their time together, brief as it may be. The door swings open and Geralt's heart leaps into his throat as Jaskier grins up at him.
Jaskier's smile fades as soon as he sees him and it takes all of Geralt's strength not to just turn and leave right now. The forest floor isn't a bad place to sleep when the alternative is seeing Jaskier's disgust plain on his face.
"Is everything alright?" Jaskier asks and the question catches Geralt off guard. He was expecting hatred or fear, not this awful stench of concern that engulfs them both. "You never show up before you're all tidied up." He tries for a lighthearted smile, but Geralt sees straight through it.
"They wouldn't take me at the inn." The scent in the room turns metallic, the hot scent of anger and when Geralt meets Jaskier's eyes, his eyes are downcast, jaw set. "It's fine," Geralt assures him, "look at me, would you take me in?"
"Of course," Jaskier snaps, then breathes deeply and shuts his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry the world is cruel." He reaches out and Geralt flinches instinctively, but Jaskier's fingers slip around his hand, his thumb slipping across his palm. He closes his hand around his, tugging him forward gently and Geralt goes with him.
"You can use my bath," he says, turning to shut the door behind Geralt, "I had it filled not long ago, it should still be hot."
Geralt opens his mouth to protest but he's struck with the realization that Jaskier had plans for them. Why else would he be waiting for Geralt with a hot bath ready? He doesn't have a chance to bring it up when Jaskier's hands slip over his shoulders, working at the buckles of his armour.
"What are you doing?" he asks and Jaskier just huffs a soft laugh.
"You can't bathe in your armour, darling. I know you don't think you deserve it or some other such nonsense, but I insist. I won't have you in my bed smelling like this."
"That's not why I'm here."
"You visit me very often for someone who claims not to come for sex." Jaskier's voice is light, amused, but as he moves his hands around Geralt's sides, Geralt grunts in pain and the amusement vanishes. "What's wrong?" Jaskier asks, pulling his hands back and inspecting Geralt's torso.
"Nothing. I can do the rest on my own."
"I won't have it." Jaskier sighs. "You can lie to me all you want, but I won't let you suffer any longer in this godsforsaken city." He falls silent and not feeling any need to argue or to fill the silence, Geralt lets him continue undressing him.
But once his armour is off and in a tidy pile on the floor, there's no mistaking the wound on his side. His shirt is torn from the sleeve nearly all the way to the hem and Jaskier's eyes go wide with concern when he sees it.
"What happened?" he asks, breathless.
"It's fine. Just a water hag, nothing I haven't recovered from before."
"Is there always so much blood?"
"Depends how bad it is."
"And they-" he huffs, "they turned you away at the inn like this?" He scowls and Geralt just looks at him, almost amused. But Jaskier is very much not amused and tells him as much. It doesn't keep him from undressing Geralt the rest of the way and guiding him toward the tub.
"Will you be okay in the hot water?" he asks.
"Better than cold bog mud," Geralt shrugs and Jaskier looks horrified all over again.
He steps into the tub, sighing as the hot water stings wounds he didn't realize were there. It's better than the mud and sweat and he can put up with a little pain if it means getting clean and warm. His muscles relax in the heat and he lets himself lean back, content to stay here and rest for a little while. And he does, for a few minutes at least, before Jaskier's footsteps catch his attention, walking away and then right up behind him.
"Sit up," Jaskier says gently and Geralt does, turning to look at him.
"What are you doing?"
"You have... gunk… or something in your hair. I'm just going to wash it out for you."
"You don't have to-" Geralt starts, but Jaskier interrupts him.
"I know. I want to, let me." He sets the bucket down next to the tub and crosses to the other side of the room. When he returns, he's got a small box of soaps and oils in his hand and Geralt looks up at him questioningly.
"These ones don't smell too strong," Jaskier says, offering the soap for Geralt to smell. Surprisingly, he's right and Geralt nods his assent, pushing himself back up so Jaskier can dump the water over his head.
The water is cooler than that in the tub, but Jaskier's hands are soft, working the soap all the way down to his scalp. He tugs a little when he comes across a knot or a clump of something, but Geralt is patient with him, although reluctant to agree he genuinely likes it. Like before, Jaskier's hands seek out every place he wants them, slipping down to massage his neck once he's satisfied with Geralt's hair. Normally, Geralt wouldn't let him, but he feels better about it knowing that he'll be paying Jaskier for taking up his time.
Once he's warm and relaxed and Jaskier is sufficiently pleased with the state of his hair, Geralt gets out of the bath, taking the offered sheet from Jaskier and sitting himself on a stool by the fire. He lets the sheet drop around his waist and digs through his satchel for his potions and salves. The potions he took earlier have nearly run their course, but he takes a dose of white honey anyway, following it up with swallow a few minutes later.
With the wound clean, it will be easier to dress, but when he tries to rub salve on it, it proves more difficult than expected. The wound wraps around his side and up his back toward his shoulder - turning to reach it is too painful and with stiff muscles, he couldn't reach properly anyway. He grunts in frustration but before he can do anything about it, Jaskier is at his side with the little tub of salve in his hand.
"Can I help?" he asks and Geralt lets him because he knows he won't shut up about it otherwise.
Jaskier turns out to be a much better helper than expected and his hands are soft and gentle, careful where Geralt wouldn't be. He's calm, not even a hint of fear or disgust and Geralt can't understand why not, but he appreciates it. Even the bravest soldiers who have seen him hopped up on potions have turned and run in the other direction, but Jaskier just finishes wrapping the bandages around him and guides him toward the bed.
"I can't afford the night," Geralt mumbles, looking up at Jaskier from his seat on the edge of the bed.
"Then consider it a favour for a friend."
Geralt wants to ask why he would do this, but Jaskier is already away, busying himself on the other side of the room. Geralt considers the word friend and how it fits for them, whether it actually does at all.
"I'm supposed to get back to see the alderman of..." the name of the town escapes him, but Jaskier just turns back to him and smiles softly.
"It can wait until the morning. I'll be back, alright?"
"Alright?" Geralt asks, not sure if he should ask where he's going.
He doesn't have to wait long to find out. It's barely been ten minutes when Jaskier returns to the room with a platter of food and a bottle of wine. He swishes the bottle at Geralt and plops himself down on the bed next to him.
"Eat," he says, "I already had supper, but I figured you probably hadn't. And you didn't seem in the mood to turn down wine." He offers a small smile and something in Geralt twists uncomfortably, though he can't quite place the feeling. This is so vastly different from their other encounters and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with it, but he takes the offered food. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he smelled it.
Jaskier picks at it a little, but mostly he drinks and talks and prods Geralt to drink, too. It doesn't affect him the way it affects humans, but even then, Jaskier doesn't drink enough to get drunk, just enough to make him pleasantly soft and more physical than usual.
He clambers up onto the bed and leans against the wall, crossing his legs and pulling a pillow into his lap. He gets his arms under Geralt's shoulders, gently easing his head into his lap. The excess energy has drained from Geralt's veins and he's feeling much more himself, although dead tired.
He drifts off with Jaskier's fingers running through his head and the steady sound of his heartbeat above him.
When Geralt wakes, the room is dark, but the fire casts light across the floor, enough he thinks that Jaskier could even see. He rolls onto his side and Jaskier is there, leaning against some cushions and writing in a notebook. When he sees Geralt, he sets it on the floor and turns to him.
"Sorry," Geralt mumbles, "didn't mean to disturb you."
Jaskier just shushes him. "Don't worry about it, I was just struck with inspiration, had to get it out. Are you feeling better?"
"Much."
"Mmm. Good." Jaskier leans over, pressing a kiss to his chest, just shy of the bandages. And Geralt is so warm and relaxed that he can't help the way the heat from his lips creeps through his skin, prickling as it spreads through him.
"Jaskier," he warns but Jaskier is already shifting to lie next to him, running a hand down his stomach, dangerously close to where Geralt's cock sits against his hip. "Don't think that's gonna work tonight," he hums.
"Seems to be working perfectly," Jaskier smirks, brushing his fingers just over the head of Geralt's cock. When Geralt doesn't pull away, he curls around him, humming as Geralt groans. "See, you want this." Jaskier presses his nose against Geralt's neck, kissing him softly. "Let me."
Geralt doesn't respond, just shuts his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Jaskier's hand around him. A wave of heat rolls over him as Jaskier strokes him but then suddenly, he stops. Geralt's eyes open, flicking over to Jaskier.
"I'm sorry," Jaskier whispers, "I shouldn't push. You're hurt." Geralt nuzzles against his hair, ignoring the pain in his side as he shifts.
"Don't stop," he breathes.
"Sure?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods against him.
"Yeah," Geralt mumbles. He knows he'll regret it in the morning because he's already stiff and sore and he's terrible at keeping still with Jaskier's hands on him. But when Jaskier touches him again, he's not thinking about anything but the slide of skin on skin.
He doesn't go straight for Geralt's cock this time, smoothing down the inside of his thigh and scraping his nails back up again. It sends little shivers of pleasure through Geralt's body and he curls one hand in the sheets, shifting to wrap his other arm around Jaskier's shoulders. Jaskier shifts so he's propped up on one arm, Geralt's hand sliding to his lower back.
He leans over him, pressing wet kisses to Geralt's chest as his fingers slip around him again. He squeezes around the base of Geralt's cock and rubbing the pad of his thumb along the vein underneath. Geralt's hips jump at the sensation, a soft groan escaping his lips.
"Careful darling, don't want to reopen that wound," Jaskier's lips barely leave his skin as he speaks, breathing the words into his skin. "Let me make you feel good, just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Do you want it faster?"
"No." He likes it slow, likes the way Jaskier can draw every ounce of pleasure from him with nothing more than his hands. They could lie here like this for hours if Jaskier didn't have to sleep and Geralt didn't have to leave in the morning. As it is, he should probably try to sleep off the worst of this, but he's weak when it comes to Jaskier and he so rarely gets to spend the night with someone warm and willing.
"You're very quiet tonight, what are you thinking about?"
"Your hands. Always feel so good."
"I can tell," Jaskier hums, pressing up to kiss the spot right beneath Geralt's ear, "you're already so hard for me." Geralt just groans as Jaskier's lips wrap around his earlobe, his hand slipping to the head of his cock with a twist of the wrist. Jaskier shifts closer, fitting his stomach against Geralt's side and slipping one leg up over his thigh.
His cock presses into Geralt's skin, still soft but unmistakably interested in what's happening. Every time Jaskier shifts, his cock pushes into the flesh of Geralt's thigh, thickening against him with each shift of his hips. And Jaskier groans softly into his skin, working his hips a little quicker.
"Has anyone ever told you you have a magnificent cock?" he rumbles, "so thick and hard and -" he groans as he buries his face in Geralt's chest and Geralt can feel Jaskier's cock twitch against his thigh. "Gods, I can barely get my mouth around the damn thing," Jaskier continues, "but I think about it all the time. Think about making you come with just my mouth, licking and sucking until you just can't take it anymore. Think I could do it too," he slips up again, tracing the shell of Geralt's ear with his tongue as if in demonstration and Geralt's hips shift again.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? What about my hands? Could you come like this?"
Geralt wants to tell him that he could come any way with Jaskier talking to him like this, but he doesn't get the chance. Jaskier shifts away from him, shifting onto his knees with Geralt's cock still in his hand. He leans over him, still straddling Geralt's thigh and strokes him quickly, twisting at the head. Geralt moans softly into the air, sliding his fingers up the back of Jaskier's thigh. He wants to touch him, wants to slip all the way up and press into that tight heat, make Jaskier moan - but he's been told to keep still and he knows he should. Still, thinking about Jaskier's hole stretching around him, even around his fingers, makes his blood rush.
He lifts his hips with a low moan, pressing up into Jaskier's fist despite the twinge in his side as he does. Jaskier presses his hips back into the mattress and Geralt is struck by how comfortable Jaskier is with him, how willing he is to push where most people would be afraid to simply be with him. Because he's a Witcher. Because who knows what he'd do if they step out of line. But he finds he likes it, and not only Jaskier's fearlessness but the way he pushes him around like it's nothing. Even if it's just gentle nudging, it sends a shiver up his spine.
"You like that?" Jaskier asks, slipping his hand back over Geralt's hip, pressing him into the mattress. Geralt's cock twitches in his hand and Jaskier grins down at him. "Fuck, you look lovely like this. What do you want, beautiful?"
"I want to fuck you," he grits but Jaskier just mumbles something muddled into his chest and gives another firm squeeze to Geralt's cock.
"Not tonight. You need to rest and heal and then you can fuck me till I can't walk straight, alright?" Oh, the mental image that presents. Geralt thinks about it and he's struck with an idea.
"Talk to me," he breathes.
"What do you want to hear about? Because I don't think it's a mystery that you get me so fucking hard." Geralt groans as Jaskier punctuates the words with a quick roll of his hips and Jaskier continues, mouth sliding down Geralt's stomach. "I think of you sometimes," he says, "when I'm alone... or not. Sometimes I imagine it's you, wishing the cock inside me was longer, thicker. Wishing it was your voice in my ear when they come."
"Or," Jaskier continues, shifting back onto his hip, "sometimes when I'm home, when I'm lying in bed alone I think about what I'll do to you next time, wonder how long it'll be before I see you again." He presses his nose under Geralt's jaw, running his tongue along the edge of it. "I get hard thinking about it, bring myself off thinking about your hands on me, your cock in my mouth."
Geralt squirms under him. His legs spread instinctively, pushing himself into Jaskier's erection and it only adds to the arousal searing through his veins. He knows it's just a story, that he asked Jaskier to tell him one, but the thought of him alone in his own room... he aches to wind his arms around him and haul Jaskier on top of him. He wants to fuck into him, spread him open on his fingers, so wide his cock just slips into him. And fuck, the thought of that is too much.
"Gonna come," he chokes, tangling his fingers in Jaskier's hair and pulling him against his chest. Jaskier's mouth finds his nipple, sucking lightly and circling the nub with his tongue.
"That's it, beautiful, you're so good for me."
"Show me," Geralt growls. The command surprises even him and Jaskier just lifts his head and stares at him with dark, wide eyes. "Show me how you touch yourself."
For the first time, Jaskier says nothing, but he shifts his body away from Geralt's rising to his knees to straddle Geralt's hip. And Geralt watches every little movement with intense interest, holding back a groan as Jaskier sits back on him and the heat of his body radiates through him.
Jaskier drops Gerat's cock, smoothing up the underside as he takes himself in hand. Geralt is quick to mirror him, stroking himself as slowly as his arousal will allow as he watches Jaskier's fingers wrap around his cock. He's already hard, slick pooling at the tip of his cock, and Jaskier groans as he touches himself, biting down on his bottom lip. He runs his thumb through the collected seed, spreading it down his length.
"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, giving himself a squeeze as his cock twitches in his hand. He's so close, would have come by now if he'd let himself, but he wants to enjoy watching Jaskier as long as he can. Not long, judging by the look on Jaskier's face. "I think about you too," he tries, and Jaskier's hips jerk and he falls back onto his heels.
"Fuck, Geralt. Tell me."
"It's lonely on the Path, I don't see people often. Sometimes I wake up hard, sometimes I just get horny for no good reason. "
"Do you touch yourself?"
"Yes."
"Tell me what you think about," Jaskier huffs, dropping his head back with a moan. He works himself quicker, pressing his hips into it and Geralt has to shut his eyes to keep from coming right then. His mind goes back to a favourite fantasy; Jaskier pressing him up against a wall and fucking him from behind. He's been over it so many times he can nearly feel Jaskier's hands on him, tweaking a nipple or wrapping around his cock.
"You," he grunts, squeezing around the head of his cock, "fucking me. Pressed against me, so deep I can barely breathe-" he whines and a little seed spurts from his cock. He won't last long, not being forced to re-live this.
"You'd like that, hm? I'd gladly fuck you any day." He slips a finger between his lips and Geralt laser-focuses on the way he sucks it, the way his lips part as he pulls it out again. But it's not until Jaskier reaches down and presses one slick finger against his rim that Geralt falters.
Geralt's hips twitch and Jaskier rubs him, pressing just hard enough to push through the ring of muscle. It's a little dry and Jaskier stops him from pushing further, but when he slips out, pressing his thumb against him and spreading him wider, Geralt's control snaps.
He comes hard, hips snapping, and it's only Jaskier's hand on his hip that keeps him from pulling him down on top of him. Jaskier's fingernails dig into his skin and he moans as he jerks himself urgently, mumbling Geralt's name under his breath. He spills onto Geralt's hip, eyes pinched shut and lip trapped between his teeth. Unthinking, Geralt reaches up, stroking his thigh as Jaskier works himself through his orgasm.
When he opens his eyes again, he presses his cock against Geralt's hip, slipping through the mess. He looks up at Geralt with a soft, lopsided smile and for a moment, Geralt's chest constricts with warmth before everything he said comes back to him.
It's like launching into a freefall and as Jaskier slips off the bed with a command for him to stay still that Geralt barely hears, he wants to throw himself out the window. How could he say something like that? Whores are supposed to tell stories, to say whatever they need to keep their customers coming back, but Geralt just went and told him something deeply private, something he'd intended never to tell another soul. The sheer mortification that encompasses him is overwhelming.
Shutting his eyes, he pulls a cushion over his head, trying to ignore the scent of Jaskier that surrounds him. He's an idiot, and worse, Jaskier probably thinks he's an idiot. He could try to play it off as a story, but he's sure Jaskier knows him well enough by now to see right through that - he usually does. There are men out there who fall in love with prostitutes, who spend their life chasing after a dream that will never be - Geralt isn't one of them and he doesn't want Jaskier thinking he is. He doesn't know why he said what he did, but he wishes he could take it back now.
When Jaskier returns to the bed, Geralt tries to school his face into something neutral, but judging by Jaskier's frown, it doesn't work very well. Jaskier takes the cushion from him, setting it to the side.
"You've got that look on your face again," he says, kneeling on the bed next to him. He takes a warm, damp cloth to Geralt's skin, wiping away the mess and leaving him cool against the open air. "What's wrong?"
"What I said-" Geralt starts then looking up at Jaskier, finds he doesn't know how to finish. He can save himself the pity and embarrassment of Jaskier thinking he feels more for him than he should, but he risks offending Jaskier. Or, he could suffer in silence and say nothing. Jaskier's expression is so honest and open that Geralt can't bear to risk saying the wrong thing. "Nevermind. Thank you. For everything."
"Geralt," he says softly, "you don't have to thank me. It's the least I could do after the way you were treated."
"Hmm."
"There is one thing I wanted to know, though."
"What's that?"
Jaskier huffs a soft laugh, tugging the cushion out of Geralt's hands and setting it next to him. "When you came in your eyes were almost black." Geralt groans, regretting the loss of his cushion. But Jaskier doesn't press and eventually, he sighs.
"It's from the potions I take when I fight. They're toxic - enough that even the healing potions would kill a human very quickly. The toxins do... that."
"You don't like it, do you?" Geralt just scoffs, but Jaskier lays down next to him, pressing up against his side. "I think it's sexy." Geralt gives him a look but does nothing when Jaskier smiles back and presses his face into his neck. "You're always welcome here, Geralt. Even in the middle of the night, I'll come let you in."
Geralt considers that for a moment. Perhaps it's a bit too much, but he's thankful for the offer and he'd rather stay here with Jaskier than pay for a musty inn room, anyway.
"I'll be back this way in a few weeks," he says, avoiding the sentimentality, "I've got an appointment in Vattweir."
